


Dangerous Impulses

by ViveLaRebellion



Category: jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blood, Cutting, Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Ship, Panic Attacks, Pax - Freeform, Self Harm, jack cuts, jackcentric, mark finds him, mark is a good person, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViveLaRebellion/pseuds/ViveLaRebellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn't start small, like everyone always says it does. It didn't start with a few nicks in unnoticed places over the course of weeks or months until it got out of hand. It wasn't his small guilty outlet. In fact, it was all quite the opposite. It was sudden and terrifying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shame

**Author's Note:**

> italicized are Jack's thoughts

It didn't start small, like everyone always says it does. It didn't start with a few nicks in unnoticed places over the course of weeks or months until it got out of hand. It wasn't his small guilty outlet. In fact, it was all quite the opposite. It was sudden and terrifying.

_¨Booper dooper!!, what the fuck was I thinking?¨_ Jack tossed his jacket on the neat hotel bed. PAX wasn't even over yet and he wanted to go home to his own bed. He rubbed his face with his palms, trying to rub away some of his exhaustion and embarrassment before dinner. Mark had declared he wanted to take all his buddies out for steak and beer after a long day at the convention, and they were planning to leave in ten minutes. Jack drifted to the bathroom and leaned heavily on the porcelain counter top. He glanced at his reflection and saw a worn and stretched young man stare back. He looked grayer.

He looked away. It wasn't that he wasn't having a blast seeing his friends and meeting fans and going to panels and seeing the city and _and **AND**_. It was all the _and_ that he wasn't used to; that he couldn't handle. He had only been there for two days and he already felt spread thin, and it showed on his face. Add to that.... _¨BOOPER DOOPER!!¨ Look at Jack-a-boy the dancing idiot!_ Jack snarled at his reflection. He should be having fun. He should be having the time of his life, finally seeing so many of his friends, meeting fans, living the dream! He should be himself right now. He should be heading downstairs to meet back up with the guys, not staring angrily at the reflection of a man who wasn't aspiring to all of the _should_ s being pressed on him.

Jack didn't want to plaster a smile on his face. Not when he felt like this. He didn't even want to look Mark in the eye after that embarrassment earlier. He'd probably ruined whatever joke Mark was going to make. In fact, he was sure he had. Mark had so awkwardly followed it up that he must have fucked something up. On stage! In front of fans! What had he been thinking?! He probably ruined so many people's nights. How could he come all this way and just ruin everything he touched?

Then the scariest thought crossed through Jacks head. It wasn't even words, just a violent urge to punish himself for this. To rip into his wrist. It was carnal and not at all a pretty impulse, and it almost shocked him out of his dangerous circle of thought. Almost. But then that little voice spoke up in his mind _. do it. who cares if they're waiting, you fucked up and didn't even get told off for it. not punishing yourself would be worse than pretending it didn't happen._ Jack just glared at his reflection, letting that poisonous voice rattle around in his head, constantly punctuated with the memory of his own voice shouting ¨BOOPER DOOPER¨ like the moron he was. Hot, angry tears started running down his face.

Jack had never thought he could be so angry at himself. He nearly saw red. Who did he think he was, just blurting out some poor attempt at humor? He couldn't just go along with a joke, oh no. Not good old Jack! He had to fuck this up too. He had to be a loudmouthed idiot in front of Mark and his FANS. He barely realized when he reached for his razor. His judgement shifted as his self directed rage increased. There was suddenly no ¨five minutes from now¨, there wasn't a thought of dinner with the guys in twenty minutes. There was hardly even a ¨right now¨ at this point.

The pain hardly registered as he started carving into himself. Cold grey metal bit into his too pale arm, red leaped to the surface and dribbled down his arm. _EMbarrassMENt_. Long and bloody running up his forearm, drawing enough blood to drip down and smear on the counter and the floor. It was hardly legible. Not like he could read through the angry, terrified tears streaming down his face. But it was true, wasn't it? He had proved himself the least capable of any of them, he had embarrassed himself in public and couldn't just edit it out in post. _¨booper dooper, indeed!¨_ God, why did they even associate with a fucking spastic like him? Jack readied the razor for another go, another impulsive insult ready to be engraved on his arm, the venom in his mind pleading to do damage to flesh for once.

_knock knock_

He froze. Everything in his head went silent. He felt like a deer in the road, caught looking down the headlights of a truck.

_knock knock knock!_

¨Jack? C'mon, man, we're waiting for you!¨ Mark called through the door. Jack had forgotten dinner. Panic exploded in Jack's chest as he took stock of what he had just done. The pain in his arm hit him all at once, intensified by fear and no longer dulled by rage. ¨Jack? Ya in there buddy?¨ Mark spoke up again, knocking once more.

The Irishman's heart leaped to his mouth. No! Yes! He was in here! But now he was covered in blood and crying and he really didn't want Mark seeing him like this. ¨I..! Ah-¨ His voice caught in his throat, the words couldn't come out. What was he supposed to do?! He felt cornered. He looked around the bathroom wildly for something to clean himself up with, lunging for a fluffy white hand towel and wetting it in the sink. ¨Yeah! Erm- just a.. just a minute!¨ His voice broke as he pressed the towel to his arm. Shit, he fucked up bad. ¨I'm fine! I'll meet you all down there in-erm, just uh, just gimme a minute!¨ Jack tried so hard to control his voice, sound normal, be at ease.

He must have failed, because next thing he knows, Mark is using the spare keycard for the room and letting himself in. _NO_! Mark couldn't find him like this! The panicked, irrational part of his brain told him to hide, and sat him on the floor in the corner against the tub. Jack wanted to scream or tear his hair out, he was so suddenly terrified of what Mark would see when he looked in the bathroom. Mark would see a bloody counter and tile floor, with a slightly bloodier Jack petrified on the floor, probably pale from panic and shaking like a leaf, holding a once pearly white towel to his arm, blue eyes wide and red from crying.

And that's exactly what he did see. Mark stood in the doorway for a moment, shocked at the sight. ¨... Jack.?¨ It was hardly a whisper, maybe louder than a thought. What had happened..? Mark's mind was moving at light speed through molasses as he processed the scene in front of him. His friend was shaking his head and was about to burst into tears. That needed to be fixed. Jack was bloody. Mark needed to help him. He forced himself to approach Jack slowly, getting on his level, trying to get eye contact. He felt like was approaching a wild animal.

¨Jack? Hey buddy? What's going on?¨ Mark was horrified, but kept his voice soft and level. He had to keep himself together. He reached out to the Irishman to try and comfort him, until Jack yelped, ¨Please, d-don't touch me!¨ and curled tighter into himself. Mark drew back, unsure of what to do. He wanted to tell Jack that everything was gonna be alright, that he was safe, that he was okay, to tell him anything to make it better.

Jack suddenly burst into a desperate ramble.¨Please, Mark, I'm so, so-sorry I didn't mean to! It just happened! I didn't mean to ruin your fun weekend! I promise I really, really didn't! Please, please don't be mad at me, I'm sorry I was late for dinner! I get it if you w-want to go without me. I, I uh- erm, I really am s-sorry, I didn't want to fuck this up so bad for you. I ju-just, I'm SORRY!¨ Jack couldn't stop the flow of words as they tumbled out of his mouth between sobs. He kept trying to look Mark in the eye, but just couldn't face the sadness he saw there, and wound up covering his face with his arms and shouting desperately through his fear. _way to go, Jack-a-boy. now you really ruined everything._ He choked on another sob as he heard shuffling feet on the tile.

¨Jack? Hey man, look at me. Can you look at me?¨ Mark was soft and gently coaxing, not pressing or prying. _That was nice of him_. Jack nodded meekly behind his raised arms and slowly lowered them before finally managing to drag his gaze back to Marks eyes. He had to force himself to hold his gaze, not straying from the warmth and unbridled concern in Mark's eyes. ¨Hey, buddy. Everything's fine. I'm not mad, you're fine. You didn't ruin a thing, okay? I just wanna help you clean up your arm.¨ He offered a smile, though it was tight with worry. Mark extended a hand to Jack, who looked at it with suspicion. ¨If you'll let me, that is.¨ He tagged on the end, trying to ease whatever stress was on his friend. Blue eyes flicked from Marks face, to his hand, to the floor, and back.

When Jack spoke, it was strained and quiet. ¨Yeah, yeah okay.¨ He nodded, breaking eye contact with Mark and focusing back on the bloody towel as he pushed himself to his feet. He didn't flinch when Mark gently took his unharmed arm and guided him to the sink. It was when Mark started to remove the towel from his arm that the younger man stiffened again, his eyes going wide.

Mark tilted his head back into Jacks line of sight and raised a concerned eyebrow. ¨Jack, I gotta take this if we're gonna clean your arm.¨ Jack shook his head. No words were spoken but Mark heard him loud and clear. _no, please don't._ ¨Why not?¨ He really didn't want to press his friend, but he needed to help and make it better, and he needed Jack to work with him at least that much. After Jack stayed silent for more than thirty seconds, Mark urged him again.

Jack felt like his mouth was made of cotton as he tried to put words together. _this isn't how you're supposed to see me, Mark. I don't want you to know this and I'm so scared._ ¨I.. I don't want you see it.¨ It came out like a whimper. Like he was a scared little child, which, if he was honest with himself, wasn't too far off from how he felt. He felt Mark's grip on him loosen before giving him a reassuring  squeeze that actually worked to soothe some of his nerves.

Mark felt the anxious buzz lower to an intense hum, and decided to inject some levity. He was pretty sure his own freak out was freaking out his friend even more.¨Come on, buddy. You're safe in my hands. I just wanna help you out. Judgement free bathroom, here.¨ He smiled lightly when he had Jack's attention and reached for the towel again, this time taking it completely. He felt his friend physically brace in his hands as his eyes grazed over the bloody wound.

¨ _ **EMbarrassMENt**_ ¨

Mark felt something black and cold settle in his gut at the sight. Why would Jack do this? Who had made him feel so bad about himself that he would carve this into his own arm? How could he ever think this about himself?! There was no way Jack could even be considered an embarrassment! Marks eyes quickly darted around his arm for other scars, and was only slightly relieved when he found none. But that meant this had been a desperate and impulsive action, which was somehow more worrying to Mark. Something had _shoved_ Jack over the edge.

Jack whined quietly when Mark's grip started to tighten. Jack's skin was crawling with apprehension and his gut was curling with anxiety when Mark didn't move.¨You said this was a judgement free bathroom, Mark...¨ He prompted, forcing a nervous chuckle, wanting nothing more than to rip his arm free and hide it again, but Mark broke from his thoughts and turned on the sink, running the towel under warm water until it was properly soaked through.

¨That I did, and so it shall be!¨ The American practically bounced into a cheerful facade right before his eyes, and started going about unpacking the first aide kit under the sink, pulling out gauze and hydrogen peroxide and medical tape in silence. Jack could feel worry punctuating his every move, though. _Of course he's worried! he walked in on ya bleedin and cryin like a baby!_ Jack gritted his teeth as Mark poured the peroxide over the cuts, burning them harsher than the cold of the razor had. He started to relax in Mark's grip as he wiped the wounds down with cool water and started wrapping them. For a moment he mused that this must be the reason that Mark always played the medic in games like Team Fortress and Killing Floor. It was just his instinct, and he couldn't help but smile to himself at that.

Before he knew it, his arm was wrapped and taped and Mark was putting everything back in the kit. It was then that Jack noticed that Mark's phone had been softly buzzing from his pocket the whole time. _right! the other guys must be wondering what's taking so long!_  He felt that little tendril of guilt wrap around his gut at the realization that he'd really held everything up. ¨Mark, don'tcha think you should take that?¨ He gestured to the phone, but Mark just shrugged.

¨I guess. But right now getting you all cleaned up is more important.¨ Mark waved it off nonchalantly, but quickly shifted into that gentle concern, his posture softening and gaze becoming more direct. ¨Now then, do you still wanna come out with us? Or have you had enough excitement for one day?¨ There was no pressure or expectation, just an easy honest question.

Jack appreciated the space Mark was giving him, and he used it to properly consider what he wanted to do. Part of him wanted nothing more than to sit in the hotel and watch the fuzzy TV until early morning, but he really didn't want to be alone with himself. Also, he was starving. He nodded a few times before realizing ¨yes¨ was not a real answer. ¨I think I can manage dinner with the guys. Let me just... put on ah-a different shirt.¨ He awkwardly gestured to his bloody tee shirt before walking out to his suitcase and grabbing a long sleeved shirt.

Mark slid into the main room, tapping away at his phone telling the guys he and Jack would be down in a minute, and to untwist their panties because that just makes dinner uncomfortable for everyone involved. As Jack pulled at his sleeves, Mark glanced up from his phone. ¨You know you can talk to me though, right? About anything?¨

He raised his eyebrows as the Irishman nodded and shifted awkwardly. ¨Ah, how late are we?¨ He clumsily deflected the conversation, refusing to look his friend in the eye. Even after how much he had just helped him, he didn't want to get into that now. He was hungry.

Mark sighed and slipped his phone into his pocket, getting the message. He wiped his hand over his face as he thought before answering, ¨about half an hour or so, give or take. But no worries, the guys went on ahead and grabbed our reservation, so we're not really late at all.¨ Mark hated seeing his friend so stressed over something like being late for dinner, and was glad he had told the others to go on ahead before he'd come up. He watched Jack pull on his jacket before walking to the door. ¨Well then, shall we depart for dinner?¨ He threw a bright smile at the Irishman, extending the crook of his arm in an overly gentlemanly fashion. Jack grinned at last, and it felt genuine. He strode forward and gingerly took Mark's arm, pulling on his hat.

¨Yes I think so! Onward, to dinner!¨

 


	2. Pretending to Socialize

The spring in Jack's step didn't make it to the restaurant. It was just around the block, some Bar and Grill that Wade had made reservations for, but the closer they got, the more aware Jack became of the pain in his arm and how the bandage felt too loose and too tight at the same time. He watched his breath puff in front of him as they walked. The sidewalk crunched underfoot from all the road salt scattered around. He burrowed his hands deeper into his pockets and threw a side glance at Mark, who was doubly bundled up for the weather, scarf and knit hat included. His roots in Cincinnati didn't assist him in the climate jump from LA to Boston. Jack was lucky he went from frigid and wet to equally frigid and slightly less wet.

Walking into the restaurant was a step into warmth and noise. The two men sighed as the warm air hit their faces, and Mark loosened his scarf and pulled off his hat, ruffling his hair briefly before walking to the hostess and asking where their party was. Jack unzipped his jacket and started rebuilding his happy face as they were lead through the dimly lit space to their booth, where their friends were already loudly waving them over. Aaron was practically standing on the bench trying to wave them down. Mark broke out in to a goofy run that was all knees and elbows to get to the table, felling the brit with a roar and a bear hug that almost landed them on the floor, and successfully left the two sprawled across the seat. Jack put on a smile and thanked the hostess politely before strolling over to the table, hands in pockets, eyebrows raised as he watched the scene playing out in the booth.

Mark was half sprawled across Aaron and was currently trying to sit himself back up without crushing his friend further. Bob and Wade sat across the table and were completely losing their shit, Bob's whooping laugh reverberating through the entire room while Wade had a giggle fit. ¨Oh, my God, I'm so sorry Yami, I just-I just don't know what came over me." Mark stuttered jokingly. Mark was not sorry. He was too busy laughing to be sorry. 

¨Just get off me! You weigh, like, a hundred pounds!¨ Aaron whined as he tried to bench press Mark off of him, but the man quickly collapsed back on him as the other side of the table howled with fresh laughter. ¨What? What did I say?¨ Aaron tried to sit up despite the youtuber that was still crushing him.

Mark was full out giggling now, propping himself on his elbows, all of Aaron's previous progress at removing him lost. ¨Everyone weighs at least hundred pounds, Yami.¨ Mark explained through laughter. ¨It really isn't that much.¨

¨Well then, you weigh two hundred! Get off me!¨ The brit gave one last indignant shove at the american on his chest before Jack finally reached over to help Mark extract himself from the poor man.

Jack grunted as he hauled Mark up by his bicep. ¨Good lord, it's not like you two just saw each other two hours ago, Mark! Layoff the PDA! There are children here!¨ That was a lie. There were no children. Jack was a comedic mastermind.  _And here I thought I was the embarrassment._ He felt his pulse in his cuts and gave his sleeve a cautionary tug. He smiled and rolled his eyes at Mark. ¨Come on and sit proper so my ass can have a turn with the leather.¨ The irishman nudged an indignant Mark back toward the booth, where Aaron had sat up and was in the process of composing himself after that nonsense. 

The brunet pouted and sat down next to Aaron, comically snuggling the other man's arm. ¨But I loooove him! Or at least that what the internet likes to think.¨ Mark added, releasing the englishman, who harrumphed and turned to scowl into his menu. Jack huffed under his breath before sitting down next to Mark.

¨Then let that stay on the internet, please.¨ Wade pleaded as Mark waggled his eyebrows.

¨Yeah, no fanfiction reenactments today, we beg you.¨ Bob chuckled and took a sip of his beer.  _Wait a sec, did they order without us?_ Jack almost did a double take when he saw the other drinks around the table. Had those really been there the whole time?

Mark seemed to notice their drinks at the same time. ¨What the heck, you guys ordered drinks without me and the irish guy? Come on!¨ _yes, because all irish people drink a lot, that one's original._ Jack mused bitterly to himself, acknowledging the irony in that he really wanted a pint to brood over. But instead of letting himself pout, he set about trying to flag down a waitress, grinning when one started to walk over to their table. No one had taken a food order apparently, going by the fact everyone was still perusing their menus whilst joking around. 

The waitress came and everyone settled as she took everyone's order, commenting that she was glad Mark and Jack made it after all. Mark laughed it off and gave her some bullshit excuse before continuing his order. Jack felt himself slide down in his seat. It was going to be mentioned eventually. He really didn't want the other three to know. He pulled his sleeve down again, even though it hadn't moved from the last time he messed with it. He just didn't want to ruin their night out by being a mopey bastard all night. He debated pulling out his phone to occupy his attention, but then again, these were his friends in the flesh and he didn't want to look rude. He decided against it, and just sat with his hands folded in his lap. 

The waitress left and the conversation started to flow around him again, but he wasn't really paying attention. Jack could feel a ball of anxiety growing in his chest the longer they talked. He was going to bleed through the bandages, or the sleeve was going to ride up to show the white cotton underneath and then they'd start asking questions that he was in no way ready to answer, or his and Mark's stories weren't going to match because Jack could not pay attention, or he'd say something off and they'd ask him what was wrong. Jack's internal whirlwind was cut short by a warm hand on his leg, which he hadn't noticed had started bouncing like a mad man. He glanced over to Mark, who was looking at him with furrowed brows while the others were caught up in some story Aaron was telling.

¨ _you ok?¨_ Mark's lips moved, not wanting to fully announce that there was something wrong with Jack, who just gave a tight nod in return before piecing together a smile and joining in the conversation swirling around the two of them. Mark was worried. The irishman had hardly said a word since they ordered, spending most of the last ten minutes staring off into space, and the last minute and a half bouncing his knee and tugging at his sleeves so frequently Mark had to make sure he wasn't too deep in his head. He had, as Mark guessed, been wayy too deep in his head, and the american was just happy he was able to throw the poor guy a line.

He still couldn't get the image of Jack in the hotel out of his mind. The first thing Mark had seen walking in was the blood smeared on the counter, not much, but enough to leave brick red streaks over the white. His eyes had then tracked down to the blood on the floor, in reality there was probably hardly any, but in his memory there was way too much, splattered and streaked across the tile. His heart had simultaneously jumped to his throat and dropped into his stomach as his mind raced with what could have happened. A whimper had snatched his attention to the corner, where he saw Jack. Jack with his knees pulled to his chest and cradling his left arm in a red hand towel, or, no it was a white towel. Mark had had to process a moment that it was soaked with blood, and it had made his stomach turn. Mark vaguely remembered crouching down to be on eye-level with his friend and looking directly into his eyes. Eyes wide and watery and scared. Mark had taken stock of the rest of Jack with his peripheral, not wanting to lose the connection before Jack cried out and broke it himself, too scared of his friend to look at him. He still felt sad at that memory, it was still fresh.

A head bopped against his shoulder as Aaron doubled over from laughter, startling Mark from his thoughts and bringing him back to the present. 

Their food and various drinks arrived and the conversation died down a bit as they ate, praising the food and joking about just giving Mark the bill, since this place was his idea and expensive as hell. He turned them down on that one though. Ain't nobody want their wallet to hurt that bad.

They all dug into their food except Jack, who just stared dimly at it, choosing instead to plow through three beers before touching anything on his plate, and even then he still picked at it. It wasn't that it wasn't good, he was just really, really exhausted. _yeah ripping yourself to shreds does get tiring, doesn't it? shoulda thought that'n through first._  Eating was too much effort. Drinking made eating easier. Drinking made sitting there easier. He resolved to order some whiskey next time the the waitress came around, after all, this was a Bar as well, wasn't it?  _way to be a walkin' stereotype. loud, obnoxious, irish drunkard!_ Maybe he'd just drink til he couldn't walk, then he wouldn't be a walking stereotype anymore. No, actually that was even worse. He was pretty sure there was a joke about that.  _¨an irishman walks out of a pub.¨_ He couldn't let himself do that; get wasted with all his friends in public and ruin the evening. No, he was gonna be a good pal. He decided to forget the whiskey.

Jack also realized he was wretched at following a conversation tonight. He'd lost them again. Now Mark was in an animated tale about an acting class he had signed up for. Something about an improvisation game? Mark could hardly tell the story, he was laughing so hard, he was gasping for air the whole time. ¨And, and so this guy, he just starts fucking humping the air, because, I mean, what else was he gonna do, right? And at this point I'm, I'm biting down on the inside of my cheek soo hard, trying not to laugh, because this guy's fucking face, he's all like,¨ Mark scrunched up his face and widened his eyes, looking truly ridiculous, ¨OH, exCUSE me sir, I didn't see you there! Would you mind assisting me? I seem to have lost control of my pelvis, due to this FUNKY BEAT!¨ He crowed while mimicking this guy's facial expressions. Jack couldn't help but laugh when Mark barked out ¨funky beat¨ in a terrible imitation of a posh british accent. The whole table was in fits now, but Mark kept going, ¨I was finished, I could NOT go on! Like, he did a little extra thrust, and fucking gave me bedroom eyes, and I just start laughing, so hard, such that I think I actually teared up. Like, people were coming over and asking me if I was ok, and I just turn to them, and fucking say, I'm Fine But I Think Someone Should Turn Off The Radio, Before That Guy Breaks Something, and they all start laughing tooo.¨ He trailed off into giggles, and from there, the table just dissolved into raucous laughter. None of them were safe and Mark was too good a story teller.

Wade wiped a tear from his eye as he clutched his sides. Aaron was laughing so hard he had his head on the table top and was hitting the table, making the dishes rattle. Bob looked like was about to laugh himself out of his seat before taking a few deep breaths. ¨Yeah, I probly would've done what Jack does under pressure if I took an acting class." 

Wade burst into laughter again before shouting, ¨BOOPER DOOPER!!¨ loud enough his voice broke like a pubescent boy. Bob fell apart again and Aaron gasped, breathless from laughing, ¨Gimme a chance to recover from the first one, Jesus you guys have no mercy.¨ But he pushed himself back up and leaned against the back of the seat, taking a few breaths as Bob had.

Mark was cackling, clutching his sides.¨Yeah man, that was hysterical earlier! But dude, oh my god when you said it, you fucking owned it, like BOOPER DOOPER BITCH!¨ He realized suddenly that no one was laughing. ¨What?¨ For a moment he thought the confused and worried looks were directed at himself, but he followed their gaze to the man next to him.

Jack was shaking and breathing way too fast. He looked pale for the second time that day and had that far off look in his eyes as he pulled his arms closer in on himself. No, No, No this could not be happening. ¨... Jack?¨

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i wasn't originally intending to write more for this one but the PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN and they DEMAND the FEELS. sorry not sorry for that ending!


	3. Blind Panic

"... Jack?"

 _wow so it looks like you're the embarrassment after all, the dancing monkey, the moron, the tagalong fanboy, the court jester, only existing for people to laugh at you, you worthless worthless worthless worthless worthless WORTHLESS NOTHING. breathe Sean. in and in and in and breathe ouuut. why am I getting all worked up over something so STUPID, STOP HYPERVENTILATING. STOP IT in front of all your heroes, oh god they're staring at you, stop it, stop looking at me!! they're worried, ruining dinner, you've already ruined dinner, they saw didn't they, that's why they're staring oh GOD, breathe Sean breathe, say something, make them stop worrying before they kick you out of the table and out of the country and out of association_ "I'm fine."  _real convincing, jackass, breathe Jack, Jack Sean Sean SEAN_

"Sean!"

A firm hand shook him from his whirlwind of panic, and he startled to see a pair of warm brown eyes skipping frantically over his features. Mark used his real name. Jack hadn't realized his hands had crept up to clutch at his head, his fingers shakily interlacing behind his neck as he pulled his head down to stare into his lap while he fought for air. He glanced nervously up at Mark and flinched away. He was practically looming over the Irishman, despite their similar statures. Jack looked frantically around the table and saw Bob starting to rise from his seat and everything in Jack's head yelled _RUN GET AWAY._ "I have to go." The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. Jack shoved off from the table, knocking his plate a few inches, and staggered to the men's room as fast as he could. Somewhere quiet, somewhere he could splash some water on his face, somewhere to privately scream and cry with locked doors.

Jack burst into the bathroom with a shuddering gasp, letting the heavy door float closed behind him and stumbling to the sinks, turning on the water and splashing it up on his face. The cool water felt good. When had it gotten so hot? He wiped some on the back of his neck, trying to steady his shaking hands. He scanned the open stalls for a moment before sighing heavily. He was alone. Everything was going to be ok, he had to keep telling himself that.  _except that nothing is ok and never will be because I feel like I'm going to fucking combust._

His stomach turned and he lunged into the large handicap stall, nearly forgetting to throw the latch before folding over the toilet bowl, waiting for his stomach to make up it's mind if it wanted to empty itself or not. It seemed to be merciful, and decided not to make him ill. Jack leaned back from the bowl and shakily sat down against the wall, pulling his limbs into himself, becoming as small as he could. His shaky shuddering breaths echoed off the walls, amplifying it until it felt like the room itself was punishing him. Every sound was way too loud. He buried his face in the crook of his arm to try and stifle the sound, but little whimpers and laboured exhales still made it through.

He loosely remembered the last time he had had a big panic attack like this one. It had been back when he was still living in the cabin. His family had been away for the week, leaving the house to Jack, and Jack to himself. The first two days had been fun, as they usually are when one finally has the house to himself, but that quickly evaporated, leaving Jack with this crushing loneliness. He had started blasting music at full volume so it could be heard from anywhere in the house and loudly narrating his life until he shouted his voice raw. Jack could handle that, but there was a bad storm that week that cut the power, leaving him in silence and darkness. He had broken down, crushed by a terrible sense of dread. He had hid in his closet and rode out the terror for what had felt like hours. That was nearly 5 years ago.

The Irishman bit down on a shriek as he heard someone come in the restroom, the heavy door thudding softly.

"Jack?" Oh God it was Mark. Jack wasn't sure weather to be thankful or if that made things worse. Either way his stomach flipped again. Too scared to breathe. He pulled in closer on himself, not wanting to be seen or heard, as if there was some terrible monster outside his flimsy stall instead of just Mark Fischbach. "Jack are you in here?" His friend Mark Fischbach. "I just want to make sure you're alright." His _friend_ Mark Fischbach, whom Jack had successfully scared the shit out of twice in one day. "Jack, can you talk to me? Please?" Mark's voice was gentle and warm, and scared. God, Mark sounded like he was going to fall apart. What kind of friend was Jack being?

Jack struggled to pull some sort of sound from his throat. Any way to throw a line to connect him to Mark. He was tired of fighting the waves himself. " _Mark._ " _help me_. It hardly counted as a whimper when he pressed the strangled name through his sleeve. God, Jack felt like he was drowning. He whined around a sob.

"Jack!" His name sighed through the room, thick with a flurry of emotions, making the irishman shiver slightly behind the stall. The door jiggled and Jack really did squeak in fear. Next time the american spoke, he sounded more composed. "Jack, hey. Can I come in?" Jack felt the plastic stall thud lightly as, he assumed, Mark rested his head against the other side of the stall. Shit, he wanted to let Mark in, but right now that was really scary to think about. This was stupid. Jack was being stupid. That line of thought didn't help. "Please?" Fuck a duck, Mark's voice just broke. Jack surrendered.

He steeled himself before uncoiling his arm from himself and reaching up to undo the latch. He pulled his arm back into himself immediately and watched Mark as he entered the stall, sitting on the floor next to him and running his fingers through his thick dark hair. He looked tired, but kept his dark eyes on Jack. God he looked so worried, and relieved to an extent.

He hesitated a moment before wrapping an arm around Jack. The irishman stiffened for a long moment before realizing how _safe_ this felt. Having someone there instead of being alone, especially someone he'd trust with his life, as bad an idea as that sounded. Jack finally started to relax, then clung to Mark's shirt. He curled in on himself and into Mark, trying to muffle the sounds of his panic against his own knees. His chest was full of cotton and tar, trying to asphyxiate him, numbing him as his mind was on overdrive, but the warm weight around him was his anchor. He didn't hear other patrons at the restaurant come and go, and Mark didn't say a thing the whole time. Jack focused on the feeling of Mark rubbing rough circles into his back, kept an ear pressed to his friend's chest, feeling his heartbeat, his breathing, feeling the terror slowly melt from static in his chest and inky blackness in his mind into nerves he could deal with.

"Sorry." Jack mumbled through his sleeve, breaking the silence. He couldn't bring himself to look his friend in the eye.

Mark leaned back against the stall door, looking straight ahead. "No reason to apologize. We all just hope you're alright. And if you're not, then I hope you let us help." Mark shrugged and smiled at his friend. This wasn't Mark's first rodeo with panic attacks. His brother had had them frequently enough when their dad died, so he had a pretty good grasp of what to do. He was just glad it worked for Jack, too. He had a sneaking suspicion at what triggered this one, though. He'd need to sit everyone down and all have a proper chat later. But for right now he needed to make sure Jack was ok. The irishman certainly had more colour back in his face, and was no longer gasping for air or shaking. "So, you ready to brave the task of walking around the block to the hotel?"

Mark nodded when Jack shook his head vigorously against his chest. "That's fine. You want me to carry you, then?" He was serious. He had already proved himself capable of carrying the slimmer man earlier that day at the con, and had no issue carrying him back around the block.

Jack was hesitating, though, and he was wound tight as a spring in Mark's arms. A long, tense moment passed before he mumbled, "Not back to my room" into his knees. He sounded embarrassed? Nervous? No, wary. Afraid of rejection or misunderstanding.

Mark nodded. "Not back to your room, then. Where would you prefer, then? We could go to mine or Aaron's. We're all in the same building." Mark didn't want to press, but they were kinda sitting in a men's room in a restaurant. Not his ideal location for, well, anything. When Jack didn't respond for a few seconds, Mark gave him a small nudge.

"Ah, em, your room, I suppose. And, I think I can walk fine, thanks." Jack smiled weakly at Mark, and despite what he just said, accepted Mark's assistance standing up. He splashed more water on his face, looking himself in the face in the mirror, and immediately cringing away. "Yeah, let's get going." He flicked the water from his hands and rubbed his neck.

Mark walked him to the entrance of the restaurant, held up a hand to tell him to wait a moment and scampered off into the maze of tables and booths. Jack stood there, waiting, too tired to stress or worry anymore. Jack mostly just felt muted. His head was muted, his voice was muted, his emotions were muted. He felt like he was existing in shades of grey. The bitter voice in his head was even too tired to pop in and bite him.

Mark returned with his coat and both their things. Jack put his own jacket on with out a word as Mark said a polite goodnight to the hostess and led them out of the restaurant.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i left it on a slightly good ish note! yay! this one felt weird to write for some reason, so sorry it took so long :P and no this isnt meant to be shippy, marks just a great bro and knows when to papa bear his friends. no garuntee on update speeds tho. i kind of write when the spirit moves me :P


	4. Working Out The Kinks

As Mark let the two of them into his room, 2 floors up from Jack’s, Jack idly scrolled through the jacksepticeye tumblr tag on his phone. There were already gifs of the moment from earlier, and it made his stomach twist with every new angle and gifset. Even so, he dutifully reblogged a few, adding cheerful commentary as he went and ignoring the stakes of embarrassment each one send through him. All in the name of keeping up appearances.

But Jack tried not to focus on the slew of new gifs and videos from the day, instead trying to favour the numerous thank you’s and heart warming stories from his fans. Apparently one of the girls he had taken a selfie with earlier, Crista, had been saving up for months to afford the trip to see him, despite medical bills and complications. Another little boy had given him a hand made keychain of Septic Eye Sam that Jack had immediately added to the collection of store cards and keys in his pocket and had made the kid’s entire week by doing so. Reading through some of the longer posts about how he had helped people through some tough times made his chest swell, but he wasn’t sure if it was with warmth or shame. He was so glad to have helped anyone at all with his stupid, loud videos. It meant the world to him, and it was the closest thing to a reward he could hope for for making videos. But he couldn’t help but feel like after today he was letting all of those people down. Like he wasn’t strong enough to be at the front of the crowd anymore, because how could he stand on his soapbox and preach positivity when he himself was up to his armpits in self loathing?

Jack closed tumblr and tossed his phone on a chair in the corner of the room before falling face first onto Mark’s bed, earning a raised eyebrow from the brunet.

“Everything ok on the big bad internet?” Mark called over from the closet where he was battling a coat hanger. Jack just groaned into the duvet, not bothering to move. “That awesome huh?” Mark mused out loud as he picked up Jack’s phone, unlocking it and scrolling a few moments through the open app. He sighed as he noted all the images from the panel and sat down on the corner of the large bed. "You think you fucked up at the panel today.” It wasn’t a question. Mark may not be the best with people, but he knew Jack, and he could guess where his mind was running after what he’d seen that evening. When Jack’s only response was a muffled grunt Mark nodded. “Why do you think you fucked up?” A half assed shrug. Mark’s mind darted through what had happened immediately after Jack had shouted “BOOPER DOOPER!!” like the goofball he was before settling on what was very likely the cause of all this.

“You know I was gonna respond like that no matter what you said, right?”

Jack turned his head then, locking his wide, blue eyes with Mark’s. He seemed almost hopeful, but incredulous, as if Mark were lying to him to make him feel better.

Mark raised his hands in a sign of innocence. “I’m serious. Sure you surprised me, but the joke was gonna be made regardless. Sorry if I-”

“You fuckin’ put me on a limb,” Jack interrupted, his stomach rolling angrily, “in front of hundreds of people. For a Joke?” Jack barked out the last as he sat up to be face to face with Mark, a feeling of betrayal stirring in his mind. Mark had the decency to look apologetic. “You made me look like an _Embarrassment_ in front of all those people? Because it would be funny?!” Mark’s eyes widened slightly at that, likely realizing the weight of what had happened in full now. _reel it in Jack, it was a joke, no need to get mad at him. He didn’t mean it._ Jack tried to sooth the seething hurt in his chest, but he couldn’t quite calm it down. This felt too justified for him to deny how awful he felt about it. Jack’s mind went to all those people who had gone to see him at the panel and all the posts he had read on tumblr and the anger lit a little higher. “There were people there who count on me, just as much as your fans count on you, and you planned to _Shame_ me in front of all o’ them? T’ embarrass me in front of little kids and people who I help just as much as you help your fans? And you’re tellin’ me that was _Planned?!_ ” Jack didn’t think he could feel honest to god disgust with his best friend before now. _Just the comedic sidekick._ Mark shook his head, looking lost and scared and so _guilty_ , opening his mouth to protest, to apologize, to say anything, but Jack wasn’t done. “Maybe try telling me next time you plan on a group panel being the Markiplier Show, I won’t try an’ ‘ave fun then. Actually, maybe jus’ don’t invite me if you’re gonna make me tha dancin’ monkey in the corner!”

“Jack I’m _Sorry_ , Christ Jack I’m so sorry I wasn’t thinking, I was just caught in the moment and the energy! It was really shitty of me and God I’m so sorry.” Mark finally blurted out as Jack took a pause for air, sinking his head in his hands. Mark looked so desperate and really honestly sorry that Jack felt his anger start to dissolve into shame and he sat in shock. _Of course he didn’t mean it ya dillhole. Way to over react. He’s your best friend, of course he wasn’t being malicious._

Jack had to take a few moments of staring dumbly at Mark before he found his words again. “I know ya didn’t mean it.” His voice was small now, guilt for shouting at Mark settling in his chest. “I know ya didn’t plan it. And I know that’s not really what you think o’ me. And, I’m sure none of the fans took it the way my mind is takin’ it.” Jack was realizing these things even as he spoke. Of course his emotions twisted the way it happened. _It was just a joke. No big deal._ “It still fucked with me pretty bad, but that’s not totally on you, is it?” Jack was speaking mostly to himself at this point, the boiling anger he had felt moments ago sinking away as he sorted out his thoughts. “I let my head run away with me and forgot about all the fun I had today, which is honestly really unlike me.” Mark was looking at him in slight bewilderment at the sudden change of mood, but didn’t speak up. Jack pulled his keys out of his pocket, dangling them in front of him and fingering the small Sam he’d been given earlier. “Can’t believe I went an’ forgot that this is the best weekend I’ve had in a long time all over a misunderstanding.” He mused to himself.

Mark smiled lightly. “So are you still mad at me?”

Jack shook his head and looked up at Mark. “Nah, I think we’re good. Sorry for the outburst” Jack flashed a smile for his friend, which seemed to succeed in making the asian relax. “So earlier, I musta’ spaced out at dinner when you were tellin’ that improv story ‘cause I missed the beginning.” Jack changed the subject, putting and lingering worries from his mind for the moment.

Mark still felt like shit for what he had put Jack through, but he was glad that any apparent bad blood between them was gone, and more than happy to recount his story from earlier. He put more vigor into the retelling this time around,earning him even bigger laughs than before.

That’s how the two spent the evening, telling stories from their offline lives, and once they were too tired to talk anymore, they turned on the fuzzy hotel TV and mocked infomercials until they both passed out on top of the King sized bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for that like, 10 month gap. I suck and I'm sorry. what the fuck are updates? and also apologies for this being so short. it was.. .weird to write.


	5. Morning After

Mark woke slowly, content to lay in the half wakefulness of morning, the kind where you can easily turn over and fall right to sleep again. He considered doing so for a moment before it registered that there was a heavy warm weight pinning his arm down, preventing him from shifting around on the bed. It took one more moment before he recalled the previous night’s catharsis and following relaxation. Mark smiled sleepily to himself before closing his eyes, fully intending to drift off again, when his phone pinged a few times. He rolled as far as he could to reach his phone, a groggy crease furrowing his brow as he unlocked it.

**12 Messages from Wadey boi, Bob, Aaro…**

“Twelve? Seriously? Geez guys.” Mark wiped his free hand over his eyes, trying to wake himself up a little more before opening the first string of messages from Wade. The first two were from the night before, asking if Jack was alright and saying they picked up their tab. The other 4 were all variations on “Get your asses out here or we’re leaving you”. Mark was about to fumble an impudent reply. Then he glanced at the time.

**10:24am**

“Shit! Jack get up!” Mark yanked his arm free, inadvertently rolling the slighter man off the bed. Jack let out an indignant shriek as he hit the ground with a thud. Mark didn’t pause to check that he was ok though, already scrambling for a fresh shirt. “Jack get up! It’s almost ten thirty!” Jack simply groaned from the floor, slowly recovering from his rude awakening. Mark pulled a random shirt over his head and went around the bed with a huff, going straight for the bathroom without even throwing a glance at Jack. He didn’t have time for a shower unfortunately, and settled for washing his face and fluffing his hair in some way that resembled styling it.

“Fuck me, what t’e fuck?” Jack’s groggy voice drifted into the bathroom, hardly audible over the running sink.

Mark ran his fingers through his hair a few more times before turning the water off. “Get up loser! We overslept!” He stowed his toothbrush and wash cloth and started out the bathroom. “Didn’t mean to shove you on the floor, it was an accident I swe-”

Mark’s voice trailed off as his eyes finally landed on Jack, still sitting on the floor, clutching his left forearm. His grey shirt sleeve was stained burgundy with blood. “I think I must’ve landed on it. It’s ok though. Prob’ly looks a lot worse than it is.” Jack explained distractedly as he got to his feet and wandered into the bathroom.

Mark was a few steps ahead of him, already pulling out the kit under the sink. “Shit I’m sorry dude.” Jack just shrugged as Mark went about unwrapping yesterday’s bandages. “We were gonna replace these this morning anyways. No harm done.” Mark muttered reassuringly to his friend.

**_EMbarrassMENt_ **

The word was still there in bright, bloody smears, jagged and harsh against Jack’s pale skin. Mark adamantly ignored the wave of nausea as he recalled the scene he had walked in on, blood on the counter and the floor and his friend, and he easily dropped the soaked bandage in the trash. He gently pulled Jack’s arm under the faucet and turned on a cool, gentle stream, washing off any new blood, then patted it dry before starting to wrap it in fresh bandages.

Jack was still and quiet through all of it, simply watching with a bored expression as Mark played nurse. _Two shirts ruined_ . Jack would have to go back to his room for a fresh shirt. He had only brought four though. _Maybe I’ll buy a new one in the dealer’s hall? Or artist alley._ Jack could vaguely recall a few shirts he had liked in each.

Mark finished up with Jack’s arm, giving it a light pat. “So other than the arm, how ya feeling?”

Jack just shrugged, a yawn heaving its way out of him. “Need coffee, other than that I’m good.” Jack gave Mark a small smile to sell it, and by the way Mark seemed to relax it worked. “Also I need t’ go get another shirt from my room now. Thanks fer that.” He added on with a smirk, deciding a little sass was due.

Mark packed up the kit and moved to leave. “Yeah, sorry again. You’re the one who fell asleep on me though, so really I don’t think I can be blamed here.” Mark chuckled as he pulled his coat out of the closet. “And I think we can get you some coffee in the lobby on our way out? I dunno, I think they do breakfast here.” Jack scooped up his own coat from a chair and patted it down, making sure he had everything before he and Mark went downstairs.

When Jack let them into his room, it was obvious the cleaning staff had yet to come try to straighten up. There was still a bloody mark on the wall by the bathroom door, long dry now. Jack didn’t even look at the bathroom, though, and Mark pulled the door shut as he passed by. Jack dug through his suitcase for another long sleeve shirt, and pulled out his dusty red one. He changed quickly and checked himself in the standing mirror for a moment, straightening his jacket and correcting his bedhead before nodding to Mark that he was ready to go.

The coffee in the lobby wasn’t as shitty as Jack had anticipated, and the boys had indeed left without them, leaving the two youtubers to hail a cab in the morning cold. The day at PAX went well. Jack immediately went to Artist Alley, picking out a shirt with a chibi version of himself on it shouting “Top Of The Mornin’ To Ya!” in bubble letters from a very flustered woman who sheepishly requested an autograph. He pulled the T-shirt on over his long sleeve one, ignoring the fact that the neon green clashed horribly with the red, and promised to plug her booth at the signing.

He tried not to tug at his sleeves later, well aware of the cotton chafing his cuts.

They met up with Bob and Wade outside their signing around noon, and Jack was floored by the sheer number of people who came and explicitly asked for him. It was staggering, the amount of people who would wait hours just to say hello or shake his hand. He had to stop several times during the event, just overwhelmed with the gravity of what all this meant. And he couldn’t help the happy little thought that popped into his head every time someone bounced up to him, grinning like they’d won the lottery, _I didn’t let this person down_ , and he’d smile and ask their name, and if security wasn’t looking he would sneak in a quick conversation with them. It really meant the world to him that he could make so many people happy, even though they hardly knew him and he knew nothing about them.

The signing was over in a flash, along with PAX a few hours later, time passing in a flurry of excitement and new people and activities that Mark and Bob whisked the four of them around to, eventually meeting up with Aaron before the closing ceremony. Jack didn’t pay too much attention to the formalities, favouring sending memes to Mark and Wade persistently. It wasn’t until after the ceremonies had ended and they were all piling into cabs to go back to their hotels and sooner their flights home that it really hit Jack that it was over. Despite the minor trauma of the previous night this had been the best weekend he’d had, probably ever. He tried to keep his smile in place, to keep his energy positive and excited, but he couldn’t help the ripping sadness of knowing he wasn’t going to see any of his best friends for several months at least. No, he was going back to live alone in Ireland and resume his routine of wake up, record, edit, post, check social media, repeat all, sleep. It was a comfortable routine, but it was very lonely.

He and Mark parted in the elevator, agreeing to meet up with the others for dinner before all their flights out before going to his room. The cleaning staff still hadn’t come. _Guess they only clean once occupants leave?_ He mused as he glanced nervously into the bathroom. _Man I am not looking forward to being on my own again_.

His eyes flicked to the blood crusted razor blade on the edge of the sink and he felt his pulse quicken in his wound. His breath caught as memories from the night before flashed through his head. He remembered there being so much more blood than he saw now. Wasn't there supposed to be some on the mirror? Or a smeared hand print on the tub? Hadn't it pooled on the floor? The small hand towel remained true to memory, though, almost soaked entirely with his blood and left in the sink. He glanced up at the mirror and flinched when he met his own gaze, lowering it back to the razor on the edge of the sink. He had clutched that tiny blade like he was going to kill a king with the fury of a thousand armies. _And you still didn’t manage to kill yourself? Pathetic._ Jack startled himself out of the memory when that intrusive little thought spoke up. He brushed the loose razor into the trash and collected his toiletries as he bit his cheek to fight the urge to vomit or dig the small thing back out.

_Not going down that road today._

Jack wrung his hands to try and stop their shaking as he stuffed all his things into his suitcase, focused on his breathing as he shoved his few miscellaneous items into his carry on bag, and tried to distract himself as he plugged in his headphones and drowned his senses in aggressive guitar and drums. The volume hurt his ears, but he didn’t really care. He leaned back into the plush pillows and lost himself in the music for a while.

Half an album later, he broke himself out of his trance and checked the time. After a moment’s consideration he decided twenty minutes was enough time to get to the restaurant and gathered up his belongings. Jack made his way down to the lobby with an angsty guitar solo screaming in his skull, and after returning his keycards he wandered out into the gentle snowfall to the rhythm of a melancholy ballad. The snow seemed to fall in perfect time with the soft strums. Jack always liked that about music. It could make or break any experience, one just had to pick the right album, the right playlist. He smiled to himself as even this gentle song made his ears hurt. That was another thing he liked.

A couple blocks later he strolled into the designated restaurant, a new artist blaring equally aggressive metal in his ears as he spotted his friends already gathered at a table. He ambled up to them, taking out his headphones as he walked and coiling them to put in his pocket. They all greeted him warmly and he seated himself between Mark and Bob before seamlessly joining in the conversation.

Mark was the first to leave, declaring that his flight was scheduled to leave in an hour and that he’d text them the whole time. Jack ordered a second drink and Wade and Bob teased him about stereotypes before they too needed to leave, taking the same flight out to Cincinnati. Jack ordered a third drink and sat alone to muse over the fact that this was likely cosmic symbolism for something. He put in his headphones and left his money on the table before heading out to catch his own flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy writers block broke for a bit so have a twofer! i got one more chapter for this puppy before i tuck her away.


End file.
